


The Circle Tower

by Impudent_Miscengenation



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Major Character Injury, Merlin's Magic Revealed (Merlin), Whump, descriptions of torture, i might add some comfort because this is pretty dark, major character illness, please read the tags guys, this is not a happy story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:35:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24914728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Impudent_Miscengenation/pseuds/Impudent_Miscengenation
Summary: “How is it possible for someone to find such redemption after using magic?” Arthur didn’t see his servant's flinch. King Royth smiled.“They may not but, for the rest of their lives, they will walk in the light of His grace and mercy. Through confession and repentance they may yet be saved. Our Lord is a merciful one.”Torture fic, please read the tags.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 109





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE READ MY TAGS. GRAPHIC CONTENT AHEAD.  
> If you proceed, let it be known that you have been warned several times.  
> This is some extreme whump I had saved. I'll be getting back to my other stories but I kinda wanted to post this one. I have the "hurt" portion of this written up, but no "comfort" as of yet. I'm listing this as finished but I might not be done with it yet, who knows. I'm a mess with a thousand WIPs.

When the kingdom of South Rheged dissolved due to infighting, the lands that comprised the coastal nation went into dispute. Northumbria withdrew themselves early on, which left border negotiations between the kingdom of Elmet (west of Northumbria) and the southern kingdoms of Nemeth and Camelot. While Elmet had allied with Camelot during the Great Purge, Nemeth could be a new ally for the northern kingdom, if all went well.

It was a welcome surprise that the talks only lasted for two sessions before a signing was announced, with Elmet agreeing to courier trade across the northern waters on behalf of the southern kingdoms with the stipulation that there be minor changes to the borders of Elmet and Nemeth, extending Elmet's borders along the coastline. The rest of the land was divided equally among their kingdoms. 

King Royth of Elmet was a man of holy countenance, with all of his advisors being of good standing within the church of the New Religion. Elmet had originally allied with the kingdom of Camelot solely because the church’s official stance on magic was that it was a corrupting force, sent by the Devil himself. If one was to use the craft, it was essentially handing their soul to Hell on bended knee, so the doctrine dictated.

While Arthur wasn’t entirely keen on Royth's strict abidance to holiness, the king of Camelot discovered that he liked some of what the other monarch had to say:

“I understand Camelot’s reasoning for capital punishment and our kingdom does not disagree. We believe it only right, however, to allow those touched by evil a chance to be touched by His love before death. We offer a chance of redemption through work with the faithful so that we may yet save their souls from the fires of Hell.” Arthur mulled the idea over in his mind.

“How is it possible for someone to find such redemption after using magic?” Arthur didn’t see his servant's flinch. King Royth smiled.

“They may not but, for the rest of their lives, they will walk in the light of His grace and mercy. Through confession and repentance they may yet be saved. Our Lord is a merciful one.”

* * *

At departure, King Royth insisted upon seeing King Rodor and Princess Mithian to the new border of their kingdom as a testament of their newfound alliance, which was how their party became so large.

They had been traveling when the group apparently stumbled on a coven of some sort. After one of King Rodor’s men cut down a ragdoll from a tree, their party was attacked by no less than seven bloodthirsty witches, each wielding their own powerful spirit thralls and, in two cases, more than one.

When Excalibur had been knocked to the other side of the battlefield, it was Merlin’s magic that sent the sword flying through the undead thrall looming over an injured Arthur. His whispered spell to banish the powerful, earth-based familiar summoned by the witch leading the other six mages. His magic to start the fire which trapped the fleeing sorcerers to be slain.

And it was his magic that was seen by King Arthur of Camelot and the king of Elmet respectively.

Arthur had been quiet at first, holding his injured shoulder, before he shook his head and reminded Merlin that the punishment for sorcery in Camelot was death. Mithian had brought up, mildly, that he had saved lives in the fight as well as the fact that they weren't currently in Camelot, but along Elmet's southern border. King Royth thought it wise, at that point, to offer a compromise.

“We always have room for more in our circle towers.” Royth had proclaimed. He’d called the towers , three in total, “houses of redemption for those touched by the wickedness of magic”; they would attempt to save Merlin’s immortal soul with pious study and work with the faithful.

Merlin didn’t care for the words “bound magic” or “reeducation”. Those terms just didn’t seem particularly holy to him.

There had been a look just then, on Arthur’s face, that Merlin hadn’t ever wanted to see directed at him. Betrayal, hurt. Anger, fear, disbelief. Arthur turned his back on Merlin, allowing Royth and his men to bring him north, having bound his wrists with an enchanted, red rope that prevented the warlock’s escape via magical means. They’d gagged him; he couldn’t speak, he couldn’t even say goodbye.

Arthur hadn’t looked back anyway.

* * *

The journey returning to Camelot from Elmet was a long one. Arthur didn’t mean the days it took to reach their destination, no, it was the fact that the trip had been in near complete silence once King Arthur and his knights had separated from the other royal parties.

Gwaine was upset that Arthur had allowed Merlin to be taken by Royth’s men, and was firm on his opinion that they should have kept the servant with them. While neither of them voiced it, Arthur could tell that Gwaine had the support of both Percival and Lancelot in this regard. Elyan was hesitant, and Arthur caught the shorter man glancing back over his shoulder every so often as if expecting the servant to suddenly appear. Leon's face was stone, his jaw tight and eyes fixed on their path;the eldest knight held his body tightly, as if prepared to fight at a moment's notice. While he knew that the other knights were hurt and confused, Arthur couldn't tell whether Leon understood why the king had acted as he did.

Magic was currently punishable by death in Camelot, but that wasn’t exactly the case in Elmet. Merlin would be working as a servant to the church up there. Arthur believed that fact gave him time to think about what he was going to do. He could rewrite parts of the law, perhaps, to allow lighter punishments than death for sorcery.

Arthur ran through what ‘punishment’ for the crime of sorcery might be to his advisors, some of whom participated in his father’s purge of magic. He didn’t like the idea of Merlin being flogged, either, but it was kinder than a headsman.

The idea that he fixated on was that there was no way that  _ Merlin  _ could be  _ evil _ , despite that the word that had so often coincided with the use of magic. The servant had saved Arthur’s  _ life _ using the craft and some things about Merlin were beginning to make more sense.

_ You don’t know how many times I’ve saved your life. _

_ Do you know how many times I’ve had to save your royal backside? _

_ Yeah, you probably  _ would  _ die if I wasn’t going to be right there to protect you. _

_ I’m happy to be your servant until the day I die. _

He needed time to think about what he was going to do, that’s all. In the meantime, Merlin could polish pews, replace candles, and dust tomes.

* * *

Hindsight was always perfect, right? Merlin often thought about what might have been had he told Arthur the truth beforehand rather than having him find out in the way he did, with an audience of foreign royalty, no less. Oh, the various scenarios Merlin had run through his head. How it could have been different. How he could have been more careful. How he should have  _ done something  _ besides stare at Arthur and shake like a leaf when they gagged him and bound his wrists together.

Merlin liked to tell himself, when he began to lose hope, that Arthur believed he’d no other choice with everything happening the way it had. Merlin hoped that he was in such a predicament because, in the moment, Arthur had a hurting heart and, therefore, not a clear mind. The law was clear, though, and so was his supposed decision; execution was necessary because Merlin had magic and therefore he was a traitor.

Regardless of whether or not Arthur would have imprisoned or killed him, however, Merlin knew that whatever Arthur had _personally_ chosen to punish him with he would accept with open arms. But not this. Never _this_. No matter how much Arthur hated magic, he would never abide by this place if he knew the goings-on. Of that much, Merlin was certain.

The guards always shifted places regularly, so he knew  _ roughly _ when morning was. When not actively serving their life sentence of “holy work”, he and the rest of the convicted magic users were kept in small cages barely large enough to house their emaciated bodies. The cages were stacked and pressed against each other to allow for more prisoners to be housed in a small area.

All of them were collared and shackled like beasts with only smallclothes to hide their shame. The dank, dripping room was cold and unkept. The air reeked of stale water and urine, mold and mildew mixing with the scents of waste and death. There was never a day without illness and it was lucky not to wake up next to the bodily contents of someone else.

Often, there were one or more corpses needing to be removed from their cages (placed in front of the door to their cell-room to be moved outside later) with the guard swap. This task fell unto the prisoners that the guards chose. Merlin had helped Gaius move corpses before, but it was much different when he knew that there had been someone who tried all they could to save the deceased. It was different when he knew that the empty cage would be filled again in short succession, the cycle starting again.

There was a pile of corpses just outside of the tower. The bodies were burned once every fortnight to keep it from becoming unmanageable. After the first mass burning, Merlin couldn't seem to rid his olfactory senses of burning flesh, even pressing his nose to the bottom of the filthy cage he was kept in.

Once any and all corpse disposal was done, the prisoners were all chained together, additional links attaching to the permanent bindings they were afflicted with.

Being so deep in the bowels of the tower, there was no light, but they were all blindfolded before the door opened anyway. Led in a line like cattle to slaughter, with humming, red metal around their necks, wrists, and ankles, every day was the same. The path they took would get warmer and warmer until they were in a mine; only then were they allowed to see.

Settled into dark brown-gray rock were shimmering red crystals so volatile that they crumbled into powder if the rock nearby was hammered too hard. The powder was deadly. Melted skin or intense burns was a common sight and they were considered the lucky ones, who didn’t breathe in or ingest the powder-which doomed them to a suffering and painful death, liquefying organs and melting a person from the inside out. As it were, no ‘convict’ went without the burning, purple-red rash on their uncovered skin.

They never knew how long they would be in the mines that day. They were blindfolded and taken back to their cages in the dark when the Warden decided they were done.

The Warden, himself, was a thin man with greasy, white-blond hair and a sparse beard. His smile never reached his eyes, despite his voice always sounding sickly sweet.

Merlin had hated the man the moment he’d opened his mouth. The warlock could clearly remember the first experience he had with the man, down in the mines.

* * *

_ “These crystals have natural properties that null and repel magic. You recognize the ore your chains are made with, yes? They are also ideal for crafting the shields and armor of our Faith Militant, who defend the peace against magic.” The Warden paused to look at one of the loaded barrels of rock and crystal. _

_ “With the crystals being so… temperamental, let’s say, it has become rather difficult to find willing miners.” The reedy man’s smile was so big, Merlin thought that his cheeks would burst. “That is where you and the rest of our to-be redeemed comes in! You will work to purge the evil from this land by aiding our craftsmen with the raw material to make our weapons. In doing so, we will purge the evil that has taken root within you!” The chain that kept him tied to the others jerked as one of the other convicted sorcerers crumpled to the ground. _

_ Merlin was handed a stake. _

* * *

Even though Arthur swore to Gaius (who had been very cold to him) that his shoulder didn’t hurt badly, the physician still placed the king on light duties for the next few days. Without the physical exertion to remove his mind from the situation he was confronted with, Arthur spent long days with his advisors and tending to paperwork. It was during one of these long days that he decided to lean back into his seat, look across the round table at his council and his knights, and nod to himself.

“I’m going to repeal the ban on magic in Camelot.” It was said as casually as someone deciding on breakfast. At first the implication didn’t sink and there were twenty or so pairs of eyes staring incredulously at him from around the room. Arthur sipped at his wine and looked around the table again.

“Thoughts as to when the soonest this can be in effect?”

The room erupted into chaos as several council-members sputtered and shouted in fury, others in agreement, Gwaine started whooping in celebration, and Leon tried (unsuccessfully) to mediate the arguing.

Arthur poured himself another glass of wine to wait for the bickering to stop and had the passing thought that Merlin would have probably been entertained by all the shouting.

* * *

One thing that Merlin couldn’t understand was the idea that somehow their torture was ‘holy’. It was thrown at them every day, that they were somehow atoning for an awful evil that they’d unleashed upon all that was good in the world. Aside from the Warden, there was another man in the circle tower to dole out punishment, known to the prisoners as the Priest. He was tall and of a heavier build, with light brown curls and a clean face. He had a round, inviting face, made rounder by a pair of spectacles and he always spoke clearly. There was never any empathy in his light tone, however.

There was never any empathy from the Priest at all.

* * *

_ “This is your first lesson in repentance. So long as you behave, this will be over before you know it.” _

_ The way he circled Merlin reminded him of scavenger birds defending a carcass they were to consume. _

_ Having been forced to the ground on his forearms and knees, Merlin was in the nude, with his wrists and ankles bound. He was completely at the man’s mercy, and Merlin was rather sure that mercy wasn’t something one received in a place like this. _

_ “You have sinned, gravely, child. You know this. You chose this path of evil for yourself.” Merlin’s hands tensed and clenched into fists. “A sinner’s only salvation is to live a life of repentance. It is lucky, indeed, that we have you in youth, with much that you can offer to our lord. But, for Him to accept your offerings of atonement, you must repent.” _

_ Merlin spat on the floor in defiance. _

_ “Magic is not a sin; this world  _ is _ magic and it is a  _ sin _ to pretend that it’s  _ not _!” The Priest heaved a long, suffering sigh, though the hint of a smile touched the corners of his mouth. Retrieving a riding crop from a nearby table, he made a tutting noise behind his teeth. _

_ “How thoroughly tainted you are, you little wretch. We’ll see what you think after our lesson, hm?” _

* * *

"Lessons in repentance” were done on an as-needed basis, determined by the Priest. Merlin discovered this within his first few days of being in the tower, when he was hauled in every day. He was whipped, beaten, cut with knives, and burned. It was endless, it was agony.

Eventually Merlin learned that saying nothing at all was better than speaking out but despite his silence, he refused to ‘speak his truth and repent his sins’ for them.  _ They  _ were wrong, not him.

The first time Merlin tried to escape was right as they were being brought back from the mines on his fifth day. Without magic or weapons, he resorted to using his fists and the chains that kept his hands bound together.

As he was being pushed back into the cage, Merlin had whipped around, wrapping his chains around the guard’s throat and pulling as tightly as his abused muscles would allow him to. The goal was to disable him and steal his keys, so that Merlin could fight with his magic the rest of the way to freedom. Unfortunately, with there being four guards stationed and no other prisoner daring to fight, this attempt ended with him being shoved into a wet hole, with nothing but squeaking rats and a bucket for his waste. 

Merlin remembers that he was glaring spitefully, despite being terrified, when the rope used to lower him was retracted. A heavy, rune-engraved stone cover was moved over the opening above him, and then there was nothing. The hole was the meaning of darkness, of nothingness. Merlin existed as a blinded creature, his hands searching along the wet stone in desperation, the water sloshing at his ankles. The stone wasn’t removed for anything. He drank from the water beneath his feet, and eventually  _ had  _ to eat the rats that were his only company.

He was kept there for a long time, but time had since lost its meaning with daylight a memory from what seems like so long ago. Eventually he was pulled up from the hole by a rope wound through his wrist bindings.

The second time Merlin tries to escape has a better plan. He’d discovered the chains and shackles power their own binding enchantments by stealing magic from the user. It took tears, time, and patience but Merlin was able to craft a spell. It would allow him, briefly, to use the connection he had with  _ his _ magic kept within the restraints to  _ break _ them. It was a long shot, but the only one he realistically had left. The torture, those damned crystals, his bound magic, and the malnutrition were weakening him. He had to get out quickly, or there was the chance he wouldn't have the strength to even try later.

_ Repent. _

During the work day, while the guards were stepping away from a shower of red dust kicked up from the mining, Merlin used his spell and  _ it worked.  _ He broke free, sprinting from the mine, half-blind eyes blown wide. He very nearly cheered as he slowed time to make himself  _ just _ out of reach of the men that grabbed for him. As he navigated upwards, blasting away those who got in his way with his weakened magic, Merlin’s lack of resources (starved, sickened, beaten, and beleaguered) were overrun with adrenaline.

_ Repent. You will know no mercy unless you repent. _

He persevered with the thought of Arthur, his king. Camelot, his home. One moment, he was running for the door with tears of joy and hope on his cheeks and the next, he knew nothing. His strained eyes hadn’t seen the hulking figure waiting for him on the ground floor.

_ You are a sinner. A monster by choice. Repent. _

This time, as punishment, the Warden brought the  _ cage _ to the bottom of the well, and Merlin was bound with more suppressing chains that kept him curled in on himself and half-submerged in the water. The heaviness in his mind and the sway of his surroundings told him he’d been drugged. Neither of these were the worst part of his punishment.

"Good luck running on those", he’d been mocked from the hole far above him, though he couldn’t tell by whom.

His feet were nailed to the cage. There were nails through his feet. It only took him a moment to figure out where the most pain was originating from, after all, despite his drugged-out state.

_ Repent and seek redemption. _

Merlin looked down at his manacled wrists, the anti-magic cuffs combined with his time in the mines having carved away much of the flesh there to leave behind angry, bloody wounds from the knuckles on his thumbs to just below his thin wrist bones. His gaze slipped again to his mangled feet, each with a nail through the center of it.

He knew he wouldn’t be able to handle the spell he used earlier to manipulate the magic in the chains; he was starting to become ill, to feel frail. Like a rat in a trap, Merlin was caught.

Terrified and tortured, the mighty Emrys wept in the dark. He needed to escape this awful place. He just had to find a way.

_ Repent and see His light. _

* * *

Arthur sent his knights northward to Elmet. The king had wanted to go, himself, but there was still much work to be done with repealing the magic ban and his presence was needed in the kingdom to prevent escalating tensions from becoming more violent. With three towers that Merlin could be held in, it was decided that the knights would split into three groups: Leon and Elyan would search the southwestern tower-the one closest to Camelot, Gwaine and Percival would take the northernmost tower, and Lancelot would travel with Sir Tristram to the eastern tower by the sea.

“The church’s views on magic are rather like my father’s: clear-cut and rigid. Whatever you say, don’t mention the laxing of Camelot’s magic laws: it could put Merlin in danger should King Royth decide to use him to send us a message.” Arthur told his men before they departed. “If they ask for a reason when you collect him, you can say that we would see him returned to our custody to be charged for his crimes in accordance with the law of Camelot, by order of its king. Say no more than that.”

Once all of the men left, Arthur released a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding and felt some of the tension melt from his shoulders. Now that he had a plan, a working plan, to get his friend back, Arthur found that it was much easier to sit through the long days of bickering and compromising in the council meetings that took up most of his time.

He hoped Merlin wouldn’t be too upset with him once all of them returned to Camelot and the two of them could have a long discussion.

* * *

Merlin looked around and noted, dimly, that the Priest had brought a torch into the hole with him and had hung it up on a mount. It was a welcome relief from the darkness, but it made Merlin’s eyes burn and sting.

He was tired.

"Repent. Confess and atone for your sins before God and ye may yet be given passage to his holy kingdom."

Merlin kept his head down and remained silent. Cool fingers wrapped around his chin and lifted his head. The Priest stared at him for a long, calculating moment.

“Your Earthly body fails you, boy, and soon you won’t have the time left to beg His forgiveness. Sinners do not know the light of God. They cannot see His grace. Repent and seek mercy. Repent and be saved.” Merlin breathed harshly, the drugs and fever clouding his senses and encasing his mind in a heavy fog. He knew, though, exactly what he wanted to do.

He spat in the Priest’s face.

“M-Men like you know no… mercies. If… if I d-die, then… I die but I have no w-words for you. Or your… God.” The Priest nodded, then, and removed his hand, standing to full height.

“Then you will die alone and in the dark. Within the next few days, I would imagine. Someone will be along in a week or two to collect your remains.” The torch was gone and the man left again, leaving Merlin to the all-consuming nothingness that had become his world. That would become his grave.

He was so tired, all he wanted to do was sleep.

There were no more tricks up his sleeve, he was too damaged to run and too weak to fight. Merlin couldn’t tell how he felt about it. Death was… release, freedom. But death was permanent; he’d never see Arthur, never again see the magnificent white of Camelot’s spires. No Gwaine or Percival, nor Gwen and Lancelot, or Elyan or Leon.

But would he see them again anyway if he didn’t die here and now? He’d been left here, not as a friend, but as a creature to be feared and hated. A monster. A sinner.

Even if leaving his servant to rot in an unfamiliar place far from home hadn’t been Arthur’s intent, perhaps it was what Merlin deserved. Merlin closed his eyes, though it made little difference, and allowed his mind to go blank.

He was so tired.

* * *

When Gwaine and Percival approached the northern circle tower, all thoughts of stealth were abandoned. They watched in livid horror at the blindfolded skeletal figures heaving corpses onto a large pile in front of the tower.

The two of them silently agreed that they needed to do something; that they could certainly take out the few guards they had stationed to watch the cadaverous and fettered prisoners. There were five in total and the two well-trained knights made quick work of dispatching the men. It was clear that they had been unused to defending themselves, what with their charges being indisposed and unable to fight back. It only made Gwaine and Percival more wrathful in their executions.

Systematically, the knights went floor to floor, killing the guards and searching for their friend to no avail. Once every last captor and jailer was dead, Percival and Gwaine only a bit worse for wear with most of the blood on their clothing being from others, the men started their work on freeing the prisoners from what was a fate worse than death.

Seeing the men and women, the obvious mistreatment they’d endured, fueled Gwaine’s adrenaline and sent the fire of pure rage through his being. How could this be considered justice? It would have been kinder to kill them all; at least then it would have been over quickly.

It was one of the prisoners that told the two knights about “the Hole”, and they’d been told that it was likely they’d be pulling out a corpse rather than a man, sending icy dread and fear through both of them.

Standing in front of what may have been a well a long time ago, there was only a moment of hesitation-inspired by fear at what they would find-before the heavy stone cover was removed.

Even though Percival was the larger of the two of them, Gwaine refused to let go of Merlin. Holding the atrophied form of the young man in his lap, the long-haired knight combed his fingers through the mats in Merlin’s hair as they rode hard for Camelot. While they’d found him alive, he was unresponsive, and the damage that had been done to him was… extensive.

There wasn’t an ounce of fat left on his body, with his sallow skin stretched tightly over his bones. His fever soared high, though there was little sweat on his form, and no part of him was left unabused, with the wounds being the worst at his hands and feet. His feet, gaping holes in the center of each, dangled uselessly at the end of his legs and Gwaine wasn’t sure if his friend would be able to walk without aid when his body healed.

_ If  _ he healed from this.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know I said I wanted to add comfort but  
> here's some more angst, oops

Gwaine and Percival were the last to return, and news of their approach was eagerly anticipated by the residents of Camelot. Many people had plenty they wanted to say to the city’s secret, magical protector, having already been regaled by tales of his heroism by the resident court physician and Sir Lancelot.

When a messenger boy came with news that the last of his knights were arriving at the gates, however, the boy's face gave the young king an intense feeling of trepidation. The thirteen year old was pale, sweaty, and had a haunted look in his eyes. Determined to see why himself, Arthur didn't bother with questions and instead marched out to the courtyard just in time to see Percival help Gwaine dismount.

In Gwaine's arms, wrapped tightly in both of the knight's cloaks, was a prone body. As the figure was wrapped to cover the majority of them, it was difficult to make out much but the fact that they were _thin_ , practically skeletal.

Arthur’s steps faltered when the realization of who Gwaine was holding struck him.

“Merlin?” Arthur’s voice sounded uncharacteristically timid to his ears. Gwaine didn’t even spare the king a glance, let alone a response, before making a beeline for the physician’s quarters with Percival hot on his heels. Arthur was left dumbstruck on the front steps to the courtyard. How long he stood there, frozen, he didn’t know; he only dimly realized that there was a hand on his shoulder when Elyan spoke up.

“There’s no way you could have known. We all thought… None of us could have known.” Elyan’s voice was level and gentle, much like his sister’s was when she was offering comfort. Arthur swallowed and stubbornly refused to look in the knight’s direction, abruptly shaking the hand away and marching into the castle with a purpose. He _didn’t_ know what had happened but he was determined to find out.

He steeled his resolve as he neared the physician’s quarters and found Gwaine leaving them. Wet, bloodshot brown eyes leveled on him and, from the murderous expression the man wore, Arthur believed that it was very likely that Sir Gwaine would gut him where he stood, were it not for the fact that the man looked dreadfully exhausted as well.

“ _You_ .” Gwaine spat, marching over to the king and roughly shoving him against the wall-the king in question either too shellshocked or guilt-ridden to defend himself. “ _You_ sent him away. _You_ did this.” Gwaine kept Arthur’s shoulders pinned with one arm, the other bracing himself against the cold stone wall behind them.

“This is all your _fucking fault_!”

* * *

_Gwaine had smelled foul things before, but this place… The hole reeked of shit, mold, and rot. The wasted form of his best friend had been wallowing in his own filth for an indeterminate amount of time and was covered in painful, festering sores as a result of it. The rats living in the hole had taken a go at the young man; he was littered with bite marks and outright holes where the creatures had eaten away little bits of him._

_"It's alright, it's all going to be alright." Gwaine sobbed, fumbling with the keys as he opened the door to the tiny cage, carefully pulling the top half of Merlin's body back through the opening. Gathering the bloodstained keys together again, Gwaine made work of the chains wrapped around Merlin's hunched, bony form. The familiar blue eyes were blown wide, not seeing anything, and they stared unblinking at the light from the opening in the hole, where Percival awaited with a stretch of rope. Gwaine’s breath hitched._

_"We're going to bring you home. We'll get you to Gaius and it'll all be okay. It’s going to be alright."_

* * *

Arthur sat at his desk, hands folded and at his chin while he bored holes into his desk. Looking at something or looking at nothing, Arthur couldn’t free his mind of the horrifying imagery that had been the sight of what the human body could look like after subjected to months of unspeakable torture. Every time Arthur tried to ascribe the abused form he'd seen with _Merlin_ , the man he’d come to see as his friend and confidante, the king felt ill.

What he’d seen was limited and all from the doorway; Gaius had been in the process of sewing up his charge’s freely bleeding back, which had been torn to utter shreds. Every bone along his spine and ribs could be clearly seen. Two ribs on his left were broken and his side appeared wildly distorted because he was so underfed. His neck was a ring of red rashes and wounds, some of them dribbling blood where they had been cleaned. His legs were just his _bones_ that Percival had propped on his arm, to give Gaius better access to Merlin’s back. His legs below the knee had already been wrapped in thick bandaging, though Arthur could see red blood soaking through them at his feet.

The absolute worst of it all? Deeply unconscious, Merlin hadn’t reacted to anything going on around him. He was limp and silent against Percival, the only knight with the ability to assist Gaius with this particular patient while remaining calm. Arthur couldn’t see Merlin's face, as Percival had it buried in his shoulder. The knight offered small comfort to the motionless young man by murmuring into his ear and holding the back of his head with the arm that didn’t support his withered body. Arthur didn’t hear what the knight had been saying but the words weren’t for his ears, thus he didn’t dwell on it.

He hadn’t watched more, already having seen enough, drifting back to his quarters listlessly. After ordering a passing servant to have Gaius sent to his chambers to update him when the physician had completed everything he’d needed to do, Arthur made it clear that he was to be left in solitude.

As soon as Arthur returned to his rooms, he thoroughly emptied the contents of his stomach.

His thoughts ate him alive; Gwaine had been correct to blame him for what had happened to Merlin. Sure, Elyan was right-he couldn’t have known what Merlin would be forced to endure but it didn’t change the fact that he’d _allowed_ it to happen. He may as well have known. He should have taken Merlin back to Camelot with all of them from the start, to hell with the law.

Much later and with dawn peeking over the horizon, Arthur had just replaced his burned-down candles with new ones (again) when there was a soft knock on the door of his chambers. Recognizing the knock and knowing that it could only be Gaius, Arthur called for him to enter as he took a seat at his desk.

When Gaius slowly shuffled in, Arthur offered a chair to the aging physician, placed in front of his desk. Red-eyed and haggard, the elder practically fell into it. Gaius’ gaze only held Arthur’s for a moment before it turned down to his hands, his mouth drawn into a tight, thin line.

“I expect that you would like to know the extent of the… damage that was done to him.” The old man sounded exhausted, defeated. Gaius sighed deeply after Arthur nodded in response.

“I’m not quite sure I know where to begin…” The physician paused and Arthur, in an unusual show of patience, waited quietly for the physician to figure out how he was going to say his piece.

“He is very severely malnourished and dehydrated. I’m not sure what he has been given in the way of food or drink but it may as well have been nothing for all it has done for him. He has wounds… I cannot number them but I have treated them as best I could. I’ve also treated his back, as you’ve seen, as well as set and wrapped his broken ribs. I don’t know what caused the rashing but I’ve used an herbal salve to hopefully soothe it. I've bandaged his neck and his hands-he was kept shackled and collared with metal and it cut into the skin there rather thoroughly.” 

Gaius paused and Arthur saw the tension in the old man’s shoulders intensify.

“His feet were the worst. They..." Gaius shook his head and started over. “I may be able to save his right leg, though it is a bit early to tell right now.” Arthur blanched.

“What do you mean his _right_?” Gaius’ eyes met the king’s and Arthur had to force himself to not flinch away from the old man’s hard stare.

“His left leg below the knee had to be amputated; he wouldn’t have survived the night, otherwise. The wounds on his feet had become infected and his flesh was already rotting. The rot on his right leg is mostly superficial and I’ve been able to cut it away, which is why I’m hopeful I won’t have to take his other leg from him as well, assuming the infection doesn’t get worse.” Arthur had to sit back in his seat and his hand went to the bridge of his nose. Arthur knew that there was probably no more color left in his face, if the cold he felt everywhere on his body told him anything. His stomach churned violently and Arthur was thankful he’d not eaten anything since vomiting earlier.

_Merlin. Gaius was talking about Merlin._

“Ye gods…”

“Merlin is strong, your highness, of that there is no doubt, but… Whether or not he survives his wounds will depend on what I see in the next few days. I’ve done what I can to keep the infection from spreading but if it reaches his heart…” Gaius trailed off, his implication more than clear. “Obviously, he hasn’t woken and, while I don’t expect he will for a time, I hesitate to leave him too long. I trust Guineviere and Sir Lancelot but Merlin is in a _very_ delicate state...”

“Yes, of course. Yes.” Gaius rose and was intent on the door until Arthur called his name. The old man turned.

“I… I’m sorry.” Gaius didn’t respond right away, and his voice was quiet when he did.

“As am I.”

* * *

_With the chains, the cuffs, and the collar off, Gwaine tried to lift the thin man into his arms, to be met with a wild, agonized howl, followed by sharp cries of pain._

_“Shit-_ shit _! Merlin!” Gwaine knelt back down and looked around for the source of the man's suffering, heart nearly stopping in his chest when he discovered it._

_"O-Oh… Oh, Gods."_

* * *

With Merlin’s high fever not having fully broken for over a fortnight after he had been rescued, it was roughly eight weeks before the young man was allowed to receive visitors in his room. Gaius had, thankfully, been correct in his hopes that he could save Merlin’s right leg, though he’d had to take off the pinky toe and more rot as it appeared even with Merlin’s healing. Merlin had put on a little bit of weight in that time, though it was nowhere near enough and his bones were still far too visible for comfort. The painful rashing-the worst at his arms and chest-had gotten better in that time, though, and some of his minor wounds were healing well.

Merlin _insisted_ on having an open window at all times, something which Gaius didn’t have the heart to deny the boy. The trade-off, however, had Merlin wearing one of his neckerchiefs loosely wrapped around his eyes to prevent the bright daylight from damaging them further. His sight had improved marginally since he’d returned-candlelight at night was fine-but, like the rest of him, his eyes still had a lot of healing to undergo now that his body was actually _capable_ of healing.

Even though Merlin couldn’t see them, all of the knights made their presence well known by attempting to talk over each other and all at once about the goings on in Camelot since he’d been… otherwise indisposed. Or disposed of, technically.

Merlin was propped up on a few pillows, still too weak to support his meager weight for too long and he kept his head turned towards the side of the bed all five men were crowded together on. Through it all, Merlin listened but never spoke a word and he never reacted to anything, his neutral expression no different from the one he had worn since they had all crowded the tiny room. Even when they’d told him about the legalization of magic, the only response was a quiet hum of acknowledgement. It worried Gwaine.

“As soon as I get the okay from Gaius, I’m going to sneak threes on all your favorite foods from the kitchens next chance I get. Cook’s fresh sweetbread? Ooh, or the apple tarts! Whatever you wish for is yours.” Gwaine grinned as he spoke, slapping the mattress on the cot for emphasis.

At that moment, Arthur approached the open door, and was about to announce his presence when Merlin responded to Gwaine for the first time since he’d been returned to Camelot.

“I wish that you had left me to die in the hole you found me in.” The boy turned away from their voices to look at the ceiling. “I want to be alone.”

The silence was palpable, and Arthur gestured for the knights to leave. Gwaine was the first to exit, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he did so; he was followed by the rest of the knights. They continuously glanced back at the injured man as they filed out, hesitating to leave. Arthur closed the door behind Elyan, leaving him and Merlin alone in the tiny room. The king stood and shifted his weight, wondering what it was that he could say until Merlin interrupted his thoughts.

“I know that someone’s still here, you know. I might be blinded but I’m not stupid. You stink of sweat and metal and you breathe like a horse.” Arthur couldn’t help the low chuckle at the familiarity of being insulted by the man in bed.

“I’ll have you know that stinking of sweat and metal is a privilege to a lot of people, Merlin.” Merlin’s entire body tensed and it made Arthur’s heart drop. The bedridden man, despite knowing who was in his room, didn't turn his gaze from the ceiling.

“Arthur.” Pursing his lips in anxious thought for a moment, Arthur blurted out:

“You can’t have meant what you said, Merlin. You don’t really wish you were… That is, you don’t-”

“I said that I want to be alone and I meant it, but _that_ doesn’t seem to matter to you.” Merlin snapped and Arthur briefly wondered if he was being glared at (or given the side-eye, as it were) from underneath the blindfold. Even knowing that Merlin couldn't see him, Arthur leveled the younger man with a serious stare.

“Merlin.”

“Arthur.” Merlin returned petulantly and the king groaned in frustration.

“Merlin, I don’t want to watch you isolate yourself from everyone that cares about you. Seeing you hurt, it hurts them, too.” Merlin didn't respond for a moment before he snarled bitterly in Arthur's direction.

“Turn cheek, then. I'm pretty sure I’ve seen you do it before.” Arthur winced at that but recovered quickly.

“We only want to help.”

“I don’t _want_ help! I want to be left _alone_!” Merlin’s hands clenched into fists within their bandages and Arthur heard him grunt in pain. “It wasn’t so hard for you to go away _then_ , so why won’t you go away _now_ , when **_I_** want **_you_** gone?!”

After a pregnant silence, Arthur bowed his head and stepped up next to the bed, placing his hand on the top of Merlin’s head-one place he knew he’d be able to touch him without inflicting any unintentional pain. While he wanted to talk to Merlin, Gaius would _literally_ kill him if he knew how riled up his ward was right now. Besides, if the other man really just wanted to be left to his own, Arthur owed him that much, at the very least.

“I will leave you. But you are not alone.” He removed his hand and approached the door, hand hesitating at the handle. Arthur turned back and swallowed down his pride to tell Merlin what he'd wanted to by coming down in the first place.

“Never will I be able to repay you for all that you’ve done for me and my kingdom, nor ever atone for the grievous wrong I have done you. I promise you, though, Merlin, that for the rest of my life I will try.” Arthur swept out the door, leaving it open a crack, and promptly went in search of his knights.

* * *

_They were riding through the night but came up on a little stream with a swift current just deep enough to wade in. They stopped, knowing that if they didn’t try to clean some of these wounds, Merlin likely wouldn’t last the ride._

_The warlock, who had fallen into an uneasy sleep on horseback, was brought back from unconsciousness with the cold water and he gasped in response to it. Or perhaps he was gasping in pain; they_ were _pouring water over open wounds, after all._

_“Back with us, then?” Gwaine asked him, not pausing for a response before he continued. “It’s cold, right? We’re going to be quick about this, though.” They tried to be, at least. Merlin’s skin was covered in months’ worth of soot, grime, and ash beyond all the dried blood. His back was horrifying and mangled and was the final thing that they decided to rinse off. When they did was when Merlin started to quietly sob. He mumbled something amongst his whimpers and Gwaine leaned closer to hear._

_“Mercy… Please, mercy….” Delirious and in pain, Merlin begged between his crying, his body twitching and trembling while he weakly attempted to squirm away from the water being poured over his back. Gwaine swallowed thickly, heart wrenching while he pressed his forehead to Merlin’s._

_“It’s almost over, you’re almost there, friend. Just a little longer.”_

* * *

Gwaine was silent as he drank, listening to the other knights in the tavern as they all commiserated over Merlin.

“He said he wished he was dead. It’s not like him to wish death upon anyone, let alone himself. It’s the talk of madmen.” Leon stated quietly, staring down at his mug.

“It doesn’t sound like him at all, I agree; I never thought that _Merlin_ , of all of us…” Lancelot trailed off, still in disbelief, raking a hand through his hair.

“He can’t have meant it, though, right? Merlin wouldn’t just give up like this-not now that he's back home.” Elyan reasoned but then took a big swig from his ale.

Percival stood, the chair scraping loudly as he did so, and he shook his head.

“None of you saw it. None of you could _imagine_ . _I_ can’t imagine.” Percival glanced down at the table and retrieved his pint of ale, downing half of it in one go. “You know, when Gwaine and I got there, there were guards outside that were having their prisoners drag out corpses-all while blindfolded and chained, mind you. The pile was huge: dead men, dead women, mostly just skin and bones. And when we-No.” Percival looked down, shaking his head and starting again in a hushed tone.

“Gwaine and I were _terrified_ we were too late. That he was in one of the piles they’d _burned_ already.” He continued, softer, but with more bite in his voice as he looked around the table.

“You don’t get to speak about him like that when you have _no idea_ . ‘Talk of madmen.’ None of you’ve a _clue_.” The rest of the mug was drunk, cup slammed on the table and Percival stalked out the door, banging it closed loudly in his wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  
> Maybe someday I'll write a conclusive ending and/or some comfort to this piece but that day is apparently not today.  
> (Your comments and kudos give me life and I thank you all so much for them, they really make my day.)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's this? More on this story after I said it was probably done?  
> I can't tell if it's a good thing or a bad thing. I just felt so bad for poor Merlin, leaving things the way I did for him. He deserves better, honestly.  
> So, this! Also probably another installment, because I have a couple ideas on how to wrap this up in a bow. A tad bit has been written as far as that's concerned but it'll probably be a hot minute until I have the time enough to write and edit it enough that it's safe for the eyes of the public. (I'm starting a new job in less than a week and the craziness of this world has only gotten crazier, so who knows how much free time I'll end up having.)  
> Hope you guys like the chapter! See you at the bottom!

It had been Sir Leon to corner Gaius, bringing him to King Arthur’s chambers one afternoon. Sir Elyan had gotten his sister, as well as the Roundtable Knights, together on Arthur’s command. All of those that were close to Merlin were anxious to see how their friend could better come to terms with the events of the past months and were hopeful that Gaius had an idea or two that he could pitch.

Terrible was the thought that there were men that had taken their own lives for less than what Merlin had suffered. Even worse was knowing that Merlin was, to a certain extent, considering death as an alternative to carrying on as he was. While none of those seated at the table were optimistic, and were well aware that there was not likely to be a full recovery, all of them were determined to prevent the unthinkable.

Arthur, still guilt-ridden and now sleep deprived, was at the head of the table opposite where Gaius was seated. Leon was to his left, Elyan was at his right, and Percival was between Leon and Gwaine. Sandwiched between her brother and Sir Lancelot was Gwen. Her shaking hands held steadfastly onto Elyan’s as he offered her what comfort he could as Gaius spoke.

Since the day Merlin had sent the knights from his room, all of them had tiptoed around the wounded man, wondering how long he would withdraw. Hoping that he wouldn't decide to just give up. Gaius informed them that Merlin's continued isolation, self-inflicted or otherwise, would only atrophy his mind worse. The old man insisted that his presence could only do so much to facilitate healing when he still had to tend to his duties as the court physician.

“He’s healing in body, though his mind will take a good deal longer to recover. As tricky as illnesses of the body can be, illnesses of the mind are far more so. If a wounded mind slips too far into darkness, healing the body can end up being for naught.” Gaius sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“You fear he’s going mad?” Leon whispered, no small amount of horror in his tone. Gaius sent him a stern, warning look.

“The mind is a dark place for anyone; we all have moments where devils whisper in our ears. Subjected to the... _atrocities_ that he was, Merlin’s devils have gotten rather loud. I wouldn’t call it madness proper, Sir Leon. He is unwell at the moment, and there’s no telling how he’ll recover but how ever he does, it will take time.”

“... How do we help?” Gaius lifted his eyebrows thoughtfully as he pondered Lancelot's question. Lancelot’s expression was hopeful and his eyes were determined.

“ _Can_ we help?” Elyan, who held his sister’s hand tighter as she stifled her sobs, had his brows drawn in concern. Ever the realist, Leon seemed to tense in apprehension at Elyan’s question, whereas Gaius sighed deeply in response.

“There are… Good days and bad days. He doesn’t talk about what happened, and I shan’t cause the boy grief where it is unnecessary. Having seen the aftermath, I think it better that what he endured remains unspoken. … I cannot say how to help him, beyond healing his physical wounds, but I believe he appreciates the reminder that he’s not alone.”

* * *

Because of Gaius’ suggestion, Merlin was rarely found without some form of company knocking on his door. On a “good day”, as Gaius had called them, it was almost as if Merlin had never been sent away. He joked, grinned, and made idle conversation about castle gossip. The smiles he gave never quite took away the haunted look in his sunken eyes but it was easy to believe that Merlin was getting better when he put on a happy face.

On a “bad day”, however, it was little wonder why Leon assumed that Merlin was losing his sanity. Merlin hardly acknowledged anyone, Gaius included. Sometimes he would refuse meals and Gaius’ medicines, glowering at his mentor when the physician tried to reason with him. He’d take to staring out the window for long periods of time, deep in his broken mind. Elyan sat in with Merlin during one of these times and had been unnerved by how still Merlin held his frame. The knight hadn't stayed for very long that day.

Gwaine decided that today was a good day, as he barged into the tiny room. Merlin was upright, clear-faced, and sporting a haircut. He was still bandaged at his neck, wrists, torso, back, and legs, but his hands were free now. His eyes had healed enough that Merlin didn't have to be blindfolded during the day anymore.

The young man had been in the process of combing his hair through, now that the mats had been cut away and the strands evened out in length. Merlin stopped when Gwaine entered, however, and set the comb down on the stand by his bedside, offering Gwaine a tired smile. The knight knew that Merlin hadn’t slept well since his fever had broken. Gaius had told him about the ferocity of Merlin’s night terrors-some so awful that Merlin was left gasping for breath between sobs.

Gwaine pushed his gloomy thoughts aside to give his bedridden friend a wide, toothy smile.

“Hey, Merls! Like what you've done with your hair, mate. If anyone asks, remember that I’m on the training grounds.” He winked and pulled a chair next to Merlin’s bed. Gaius caught the door behind Gwaine, carrying with him the necessary supplies to change Merlin's bandages.

“Ah, this again.” Merlin sighed and lifted the corner of his mouth to Gwaine. It was somehow both a grin and a grimace. “You might want to come back some other time; even I get queasy watching this.” It was a joking type of tone but Gwaine could see how fragile the thin veil of humor was that hid his grief. The knight took Merlin’s hand into his own and squeezed it in reassurance.

“So long as I’m not in the way of your healing, I plan to stay as long as you’ll allow me, Merlin. Queasy bits and all.” Gwaine smiled and ruffled the hair on Merlin’s head and Merlin scoffed, though Gwaine took note of the small amount of tension that left his shoulders as he did so. Merlin was pointedly not looking as Gaius moved the blanket away from his lower half and got to work pulling the old bandaging away from his right foot.

“You know I’d _just_ combed my hair to lay flat, you git.” The two chuckled but Merlin’s cut off with a sudden hiss when Gaius peeled away some scabbing with the bandaging. Gaius apologized and Gwaine cleared his throat to get Merlin to focus on him.

“If there’s one thing I know, my friend, it’s hair. And yours was never meant to lay flat.” To emphasize his point, Gwaine purposefully began ruffling it with both of his hands. Merlin rolled his eyes during this process (Gwaine was nothing if not dutiful in thoroughly tousling his hair), grunting in pain a bit here and there when Gaius cleaned away excess dried blood and remaining infection.

“There, much better. See?” Gwaine turned around and grabbed a small hand mirror, holding it up and allowing Merlin to inspect the outcome of Gwaine’s excessive fluffing. Merlin snorted and shook his head.

“Only better if we're using my head to clear cobwebs.” He jested, setting the mirror on his lap. Gaius had finished cleaning the wounds on both legs at this point and was carefully wrapping the stump that ended just below Merlin’s knee. Merlin made the mistake of looking down and blanched.

Gaius had told Gwaine beforehand that it was difficult for Merlin to see what remains of his leg, the grief of having lost one still too fresh for him to properly process. As Gwaine was about to make another distracting comment on his hair, Merlin turned to the knight with teary eyes.

“Sometimes it’s like I still have it, y’know? I go to twitch my toes because I can just… _feel it_ , but then I… there’s nothing there.” Gwaine bit his tongue, not sure how to respond, if a response was even what was needed. Gaius, thankfully, came to his rescue.

“I’ve heard that the sensation is common, my boy,” he finished the bandaging job and placed a hand on Merlin’s shoulder for comfort, “so long as it’s not painful, there is little I can do. Do you need a tonic?” Merlin shook his head but Gaius wasn’t convinced, especially taking note of the dark circles under the boy’s wet eyes. The physician replaced Merlin’s blanket and smoothed it down, being careful of his freshly-bandaged legs.

“I’ll prepare you some broth for supper but after that I would like you to take a sleeping draught. You may be feeling better for the moment but you still need to rest.” That said, Gaius hobbled out the door, taking the old, bloodstained bandaging and bowl of water out with him. Merlin sighed and looked towards the window at the setting sun.

“... Remember when you said you’d do something for me, when Gaius gave you the okay?” Gwaine nodded and leaned forward, as if to listen closely. 

“You have only to ask, my friend.” Merlin smiled at Gwaine, genuinely, and the knight was proud to see some small amount of darkness flee Merlin’s blue eyes.

“I just... I want to go outside, just for a little while. I want to feel the sun on my face again. Gaius says my eyes are well enough now that I’ll be alright but I… I can’t get there on my own and Gaius is too old...” Merlin trailed off and Gwaine took Merlin’s hands into his own. The knight nodded with a big smile, carefully rubbing his thumbs in circles along the backs of the younger man’s bony knuckles.

“Tomorrow morning I’ll fetch Percy and we’ll take you to the hill out by the field to watch the sunrise.” Gwaine paused and his smile only got wider. “After stopping in at the kitchens, of course. Sweets may not be good for the teeth but they are certainly good for the soul.”

* * *

It was _well_ into the night before Arthur was able to pull himself from his duties to the kingdom, and fall into his bed. Arthur sprawled out and stared at the canopy above him, unable to find respite enough to relax-let alone sleep.

With magic having been decriminalized, he’d been under much duress. This was because of the fact that, even though he’d made the effort to encourage his council and his people of the good that magic could do, and has done, many were distrustful of the craft thanks to the intolerance that his father had preached. So new was Arthur to his reign, the people weren’t sure what to make of him, or the dramatic changes in the law.

Of course there were plenty of those that were pro-magic, though Arthur hadn’t seen anyone make the attempt to utilize the craft-Merlin included. The young monarch was coming to the realization that the seeds of mistrust in him were sown far deeper than he knew.

The knowledge was humbling, to say the least. It had occurred to him, in the long hours he spent awake in his bed at night, that he hadn’t done anything that would make it seem as though he should be trusted with the welfare of his people. Least of all by those who had magic. One needn’t look further than the physician’s chambers to see evidence that he _couldn’t_ be trusted when faced with a decision regarding magic.

Even now, there were councilmen whispering that they could “undo the damage” done to Camelot by making it all out to be a ruse. Once counsilman had suggested executing those who voiced their approval as sympathizers. Such talk made Arthur sick to his stomach, though there seemed to be little he could do about it. It was all talk, anyway.

Nonetheless, it was clear what this inherent hatred of magic had done to the minds of his people. They were frightened. They were frightened of _him_ , of the Pendragon name and legacy. Arthur didn’t want to be a ruler by feared subjects, this much he knew. A king should be seen as just and fair, only feared by those who would go against the kingdom. Unfortunately, he wasn't sure what he could to soothe the fears of his kingdom’s people, both those with magic and those without. The only person that he might have turned to for advice on the matter barely spoke to him anymore. Not that Arthur could hold that against the man.

In fact, Arthur wouldn’t blame Merlin if he never wanted a thing to do with him or Camelot anymore, once he was healed well enough to travel. Even so, Arthur was having a hard time reconciling that fact with the unbearable tightness in his chest whenever the thought of Merlin leaving came across his mind. Arthur admitted that it was selfish of him to expect Merlin's continued friendship. Hell, Arthur had a feeling that it was too much to ask that Merlin not _hate_ him.

Gwaine had certainly made his opinion of Arthur very clear. The long-haired knight had told Arthur outright that if Merlin left, he would follow without hesitation. Arthur didn't begrudge him that, nor for the venomous looks that Gwaine often sent his way these days. It wasn't as though they weren't warranted, after all, and Sir Gwaine wasn’t the only one who had changed his behavior radically as of late.

A quiet man usually, Percival was positively stoic these days with anyone that wasn't Gwaine, Merlin, or Gaius. Responses were one word, if that, and the gentle giant seemed to desire coming off as unapproachable most of the time. Lancelot was often in Gwen’s company, offering her-and others-measures of comfort that Arthur found he could not. Gwen, herself, was less bubbly. She frequently made attempts to lighten the mood but said attempts generally fell short.

Arthur had a feeling that if Merlin left, he’d be taking a full party of others with him. During training, there were plenty of stolen glances to the side of the castle holding the physician's chambers, and Arthur knew that Merlin had one or more visitors daily. That made it easier, and simultaneously harder, for Arthur to continue to be the only one not to have visited Merlin since the man’s outburst.

It was overwhelming guilt that Arthur felt whenever the thought of visiting his former manservant came to him. It ate away at his confidence, preventing him from facing the source of his guilt. Prevented him from visiting Merlin as he healed. Arthur silently hated himself for it, for his cowardice.

Groaning in discomfort at the unbidden thoughts rattling in his skull, Arthur tossed and turned in his bed. The sheets tangled his legs and Arthur, frustrated, threw all his bedding onto the floor. Then, he gave up on sleeping altogether and started pacing, instead.

With the entire city holding its breath with regards to magic, the heavy neurosis and hatred having poisoned the hearts of too many too far off, Arthur believed he had an idea just how fractured the kingdom of Camelot had become. The price paid for being an epicenter of fear. The problem was that he had no idea how to fix it.

He wondered if he even could.

* * *

Gwaine was nothing if not true to his word, creeping into Merlin’s bedroom before dawn with a few loaves of sweetbread and a wineskin of hot cider. Percival, sporting a grin, swept Merlin-blankets and all-into his arms. Merlin chuckled weakly, rubbing an eye as he started waking up properly. The smell of sweetbread and cider certainly helped.

Merlin was silently thankful that the courtyard and adjacent streets were still quiet as the three of them made for the hills just outside the city walls. The cobalt sky was just starting to lighten with the hint of sun, though no colors were dancing across the horizon quite yet. Spring was arriving, though there was still a wintery bite remaining in the crisp, morning air. Merlin tightened the hold on his blanket to fend off the chilly breeze, though he sighed happily as it ruffled his hair.

In short order, the three men found themselves seated underneath a large oak tree. They were atop one of the hills further away from the citadel, Merlin sandwiched between the two knights to keep warm

The first of the sweetbread loaves was devoured rather quickly, though that was mostly thanks to Gwaine. Merlin had been genuinely amused when Gwaine had filled his cheeks like a chipmunk, giving the knight cause to do it again. The second attempt left the knight with crumbs in his stubble and all down the front of his tunic.

“Saving some for later?” Merlin asked cheekily, flashing the long-haired man a grin. Mouth still full of bread, Gwaine made a delighted moaning noise.

“It’s so _fresh_ , I can’t help it.” Merlin broke into a laugh at Gwaine’s antics and it sounded truly unfeigned, which had both of the knights joining in with their own chuckling.

It was comfortably quiet for a while afterwards, as the sun began its ascent. Merlin was transfixed at the orange, pink, and red glow unfurling across the scenery with the sunrise. The only sound that broke the silence was the occasional sipping off the cider. When the bright colors began to give way to cloudy white and gray, Merlin sighed and looked to his companions.

“Thank you.” His tone wobbled, which had Percival and Gwaine looking to the young man in concern. Contrary to the waver in his voice, Merlin was wearing a bright, crinkly-eyed smile. Tears were shimmering in his eyes and Merlin was sniffling to keep them at bay. Merlin struggled for only a moment longer before he broke into soft sobs.

“I-I’m sorry, I’m not sad-honest.” Merlin explained, palms rubbing circles into his eyes as he wept.

“Thank you both so much.” Relieved that the emotions Merlin was choking on were of joy, Gwaine wrapped an arm around Merlin’s shoulders and scooted closer to his left side; Percoval copied his movements on the right. Gwaine smiled, squeezing Merlin’s blanketed shoulder.

“Don’t thank us, Merls. We can do this anytime you need. Every morning, if you want.” Sir Gwaine promised, Percival nodding his agreement. Merlin sniffled, sobs ebbing into wet chuckles. The three men stayed like that for a while, calmly observing the horizon stretching beyond them as the sun crept higher in the sky. Even when it was time for the men to head back, Merlin’s smile didn’t leave. Gwaine concluded that if bringing Merlin out in the fresh air would help heal the parts of him that had been broken, it was the very least that he could do.

With spring coming, a time of revival and renewal was upon them all and Gwaine was eager, if a bit anxious, to find out what that meant for Merlin’s future. And Camelot's, as well.

* * *

It was late at night and Merlin found himself staring at the moon, as he often did when the castle was asleep. A soft breeze tickled the back of his neck and Merlin felt magic in the room that wasn’t his own. While his back straightened, aware of a presence behind him, Merlin resisted the pull to turn his gaze from the window.

“Emrys.” Merlin’s attention reluctantly moved to Mordred standing in the center of his room, the door closed behind him. Merlin inclined his head in Mordred’s direction, curtly.

“Mordred.” The druid shifted his weight, almost nervously. Merlin snorted and turned his sight back to the night sky.

“Why are you here?” Merlin asked softly, his tone lacking the usual, mistrustful bite it had always seemed to hold whenever he’d previously spoken to the young man. Instead his question sounded resigned, almost bored. Mordred let out a small noise, not quite a sigh.

“I… You might not believe me, Emrys, but there was a time that I very much admired you. I-”

“If you’re going to say that you _still_ admire me then you can save your breath because I know that’s not true. I don’t want your pity, Mordred. If you’re only here to leave flowery words then just get out. Otherwise, get on with it.” Merlin heard Mordred swallow and he got a measure of satisfaction out of it. Then the warlock briefly wondered when exactly it was that he became so bitter. Had it been before or after the torture?

“Magic may be legal within Camelot’s walls but Lady Morgana and I will never return to Camelot under the rule of Uther Pendragon’s son. I’ve come here to take you with us, should you want to leave this place.” Merlin’s head turned back to Mordred; he was blinking in surprise.

“What? So Morgana can finish the job, here?” Merlin gestured to himself. “Is that why she sent you?” Mordred actually paled and Merlin narrowed his eyes.

“No, Emrys. I swear to you that the offer is in good faith. Lady Morgana knows the pain of torture under Odin’s hands. When we heard of the towers... My Lady believes that your suffering has been enough penance paid to the cause of justice. She empathizes and seeks t-”

“To take Camelot’s throne, in case you hadn’t noticed. I’m not sure how much you believe to be changed, Mordred, but I will _never_ betray Arthur.” Merlin swallowed thickly, shaking his head. “Nor will I leave this kingdom behind. Not for you, Lady Morgana, or anyone else. Camelot… Camelot is my home.” Mordred bowed his head solemnly, pursing his lips in obvious disappointment. Noticing the hesitation in Merlin’s tone, however, the druid hoped that Emrys’ mind could yet be swayed. Picking at the topic, however, he knew would do him little good.

“I see.” The druid boy met the warlock’s eyes. “Then I suppose there’s nothing more to say.”

“I suppose not... Goodbye, Mordred.” Mordred dipped his head once more.

“Farewell, Emrys. Until the next.” And he disappeared by magic, leaving Merlin alone in his moonlit room. Merlin resumed staring out the window, a small part of him questioning if he'd made the right choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it wasn't /all/ bad this time, at least. Merlin got some much needed love (thank you Sir Gwaine) and now there's a bit of silver lining to all of this darkness.  
> Hope you guys enjoyed!  
> (Comments and kudos keep my writing fingers twitchy! You guys are my inspiration! Let me know if you have any ideas on how this is gonna continue!)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm actually sorry about writing this, guys.  
> Feel free to let me know what you think!


End file.
